


Peven's Ghost

by seleneheart



Category: Riddle-Master Trilogy - Patricia A. McKillip
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Oaths & Vows, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seleneheart/pseuds/seleneheart
Summary: Raederle dares Peven's tower to understand the price her father put on her hand





	Peven's Ghost

The tower loomed dark against the gradually lightening sky, surrounded by the quiet oak forest, dreaming in the chill of an early autumn morning. The leaves that would persist unscathed until the worst of the winter storms were starting to change into their brilliant colors, but now they whispered softly as the air warmed with the rising sun. She gathered her skirts and her courage around her and stepped out of the trees.

The door was easy enough to find, rotting oak planks held together by rusted iron strapping. Fortunately, the steps were carved into the stone though the handrail had long since rotted. The light breeze trickled through the occasional window, stirring up dust and a dank smell, which she registered with a weary shake of her head. Of course, it was a haunted tower, so it must smell sickening. All the wraiths who haunted her family were utterly unoriginal.

When she reached the room at the top, she saw the figure of a man, clad in black, resting in the opening of a wide window facing south. She crossed the uneven floor towards him, a question on her lips. He turned and she saw that he was a skeleton, held together with rotting strips of flesh and sparse shreds of clothing. But over all was draped a Black robe of a Master Riddler. The battered skull grinned at her.

“Do you come to challenge King Peven for his crown?”

His voice echoed through her mind, a sneering sound, underlaid by a moist spattering as though the chords in his neck had rotted away. It sounded unnaturally loud in the still of the morning and she shuddered at the power of the shade, until she realized he had spoken directly into her mind. Another trick, she decided derisively and she straightened her spine, remembering that she was a Princess of An. Her ancestors had conquered his years ago and bound him to this tower. She told herself that she had nothing to fear from a ghost.

“No, I come to see what price my father placed on my life.”

He barked with laughter, a disturbing sound, this time seeming to come from his empty chest. “And what price is that, little girl?”

But she was ready for his attempts to unnerve her and her voice was as stern as she could make it, though she wished she had waited to do this chore until she was a little bit older.

“He vowed that he would wed me to no one except the man who could win your crown from you.”

“Did he? The Kings of An were always foolish with their promises. Any man with enough sense to outwit me could claim you, whether he be king or farmer. Will your father wed you to a pig-herder?”

“If such a man can out-riddle you then yes, my father will abide by his vow,” she said evenly.

He stretched a bony hand towards her face and she tried not to flinch, but by the time he touched her, he was seemingly clothed in flesh. She blushed to see that he wore nothing but the black robe and he appeared as he did when he had been a youth. His eyes raked over her, knowing and assessing and she was more frightened that she could ever remember.

“You are a pretty thing. Many men will die for the chance to possess you. Can you live with that?” His voice was low, gentle almost.

He had merely articulated what was in her worst imaginings, so she nodded, trying to pull away but his grip tightened and contempt filled his voice again.

“I hold my own crown yet, perhaps your father will give you to me, for that is the only way you will ever wed. All men die who dare my challenge. It would be a pity to waste such beauty in withered age.”

She glared at him, and stepped away from his hand which had loosened its clasp, hoping that her voice would not tremble.

“I am still free to give my heart where I will. He cannot dictate that.”

The ghost dropped his voice lower. “So you would abandon honor for love. You are very young yet.”

“I have been trained to be a Riddlemaster’s wife, perhaps someday I will win my own freedom from your hand.” She spat the words at him, wishing that her father could see what his reckless vow was costing her.

“It matters not to me whose life I take. You would be a beautiful addition to my collection. If you tire of your lonely life, come back and I will bring you into my world.” His flesh was melting off his bones again and his smile became a leer.

The terrible weight of her father’s vow and her own beauty became too much all at once and she desperately wanted her mother. She ran for the staircase, her breath gasping in her lungs as she plunged unheedingly down the spiraling stairs. She did not stop until she was under the trees again, safe from the eyes of a ghost who saw all too much.

She found her horse and swung back into the saddle, wondering if she could get back to Anuin before anyone realized that she had gone. She would tell her mother what she had done, and perhaps Cyone could try once again to convince Mathom to release his oath.

 

She turned the horse south, the sound of leaves rustling and acorns falling like the breathing heart of the woods as she traveled. As her pulse gradually settled, she wondered if she could ever forgive her father for laying this burden on her.


End file.
